Mrs. Poole laughs. “Every year since the 80’s. We rent these two villas, side by side, for the entire summer.”
I realize they have Villas Five and Six. Right next door to Cruise. I will myself not to blush, wondering what they might’ve heard last night. And then with a sinking feeling I admit to myself that anything they heard might not have been out of character for late nights in Villa Seven. I might’ve been the only new part of the equation.
I accept their offer of a drink, not just because sitting in front of their villa gives me an excellent view of the comings and goings at the other villas, but because as long time guests, they can tell me about the hotel, give me tips for improving the service and taking it back to its heyday.
I settle into a chair, Mrs. Charleston gives me a chilled flute of pineapple juice.
The tropical smell reminds me of suntan lotion, and that, in turn, reminds me of Cruise. I glance over at his villa. It’s dark inside. Maybe he’s sleeping, or out. Mainly I’m hoping that whatever spurred his, pretend you never met me outburst this afternoon hasn’t caused him to actually leave. I don’t have his phone number. I don’t know his last name. If he leaves I’ll never see him again, short of asking Dawn. A humiliating thought, but after our conversation today I don’t think I could bring myself to ask Sheila.
Mrs. Poole notices my preoccupation. She shares a knowing grin with her friend.
“You aren’t waiting for a sighting of our favorite eye-candy, are you?” Mrs. Charleston raises her dramatic brows.
“Is it…a popular pastime?” I ask.
Both ladies chuckle.
“I have to admit, we’ve been known to be up early, with mimosas, to view his morning run,” Mrs. Poole says. “Mr. Poole laughed at us. Said the only thing that could get us out of bed before sunup was a muscular young man.”
“Gracie, I do believe our guest was the lucky young lady who—” I brace myself for the rest of the sentence, unsure how much they know.
“The one who went to lunch with him yesterday?” Mrs. Poole asks. “We saw you walking. Not through binoculars, mind you, we were just watching the beach.”
“It was just a lunch,” I say.
“A delicious meal at the crab shack?”
“Does he take all the girls there?”
“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Charleston clucks. “You really are in deep. I’ve never seen him take a girl out for a meal—not that that means anything—heavens, no. We saw you go into the Crab Shack together.”
I grin despite myself. There’s no way they could see us go into the Crab Shack from here without the use of the binoculars they claim not to have.
“I just wanted to make sure he was still…in residence.”
“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Charleston lets her glasses slide down her nose. “Did the date go that badly?”
“It wasn’t a date. At least I don’t think so.” And what was the evening meeting, his summoning me to party with him. Was that a date? I don’t think so. I can’t imagine how my parents would react to me responding to this sort of summons. “He was upset, earlier today. And I was…concerned.”
The ladies glance at one another.
“He’s a deep one,” Mrs. Charleston says. “We know he isn’t just eye-candy. He’s…angry. I don’t think the world has treated him very well.”
We sit in silence, considering this. Sheila said he was a good boy who went down the wrong path. I wish I knew what that meant.
Mrs. Poole and Mrs. Charleston refresh their drinks in companionable silence.
“I nearly forgot.” Mrs. Poole solemnly places a tiny purple paper umbrella in my juice.
“Have there been many…females…visiting his villa?” The question bursts out of me. I have to get my feelings under control. To realize we had a one night stand, nothing more and nothing less. I know I have no right to ask this, but I can’t help myself. And if anyone knows, it’s the ladies beside me.
Mrs. Charleston gives Mrs. Poole a look.
“There have been a few,” she admits. “More than a few, maybe. But we are observant. We can see into his very attractive soul. None of them are the one for him. He needs something more.”
They sigh in unison, and Mrs. Poole fans herself.
“And he’s never taken one of them to the Crab Shack for lunch,” Mrs. Poole adds. “He’s very fond of the Crab Shack.”
I want to ask, whether I could be the right one for him, but I already know the answer. A guy like that, and someone like me? There’s no way. And my parents would loose their minds. Instead of asking anything else about Cruise, since I’m not a complete stalker yet, I try to frame some questions about Seascape Villa.